


Torn and Reborn

by paperstorm



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 11th Century, Bottom Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Nicolo opining about how wonderful Yusuf is because that is a whole ass mood, POV Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Romance, internal religious conflict, nicky and joe on the run together learning to love each other, oodles of emotions and softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/pseuds/paperstorm
Summary: Yusuf sighs sleepily and tosses his head to the side, and Nicolò stills for a moment. He doesn’t want Yusuf to wake just yet. Outside their tent the wind howls and rain pelts into the thick canvas but inside they’re warm and dry. Yusuf’s skin glows in the blue rays from the full moon that filter in through the space between the flaps, and Nicolò just wants to look at him a while longer. To marvel at him, to treasure him, to send up a prayer of thanks for anyone who might still be listening to a sinner for bringing him to Yusuf’s light.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 41
Kudos: 341





	Torn and Reborn

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song What Have I Done by Dermot Kennedy (which is the PERFECT Nicky/Joe song, listen to it immediately and then come yell with me about it)

Yusuf is beautiful when he’s sleeping.  
  
He’s always beautiful, but especially when he’s asleep. All the lines of worry smooth. His hair is carelessly mussed, some coils matted to his skull and others sticking up at odd angles, still from where Nicolò’s fingers had been in it before they fell into dreams. His lips are parted slightly, just enough to allow puffs of soft, even breathing. Calm, quiet. He looks younger than Nicolò ever knew him. 33 years old, when they met six months ago, and unaged a day since, other than perhaps a slight toughening of the soul behind his rich brown eyes.  
  
He’d had so much more to leave behind than Nicolò did when they left the city together after being unable to stop the beating of each other’s hearts and finding them intertwined instead. Nicolò hadn’t planned on returning to Genoa. He’d believed so firmly that God’s plan for him was to perish in the holy struggle to recapture his land. He’d been wrong, so very wrong, but he’d made peace before leaving his home with the idea of never returning. His mother and father have been gone for years. He’d never had any brothers or sisters. He’d forfeited the possibility of a wife and children the day he entered the seminary. And his church, the men he trusted and listened to and whose council he so eagerly sought, had been built on an invisible mountain of lies. Nicolò had nothing to return to. But Yusuf had family, friends, loved ones. It had been a much more difficult decision, to leave behind everything he’s known and take up with an invader whose pale skin and religious fury should have been more than enough to keep Yusuf away from him forever.  
  
He looks so young, rid of all stress marks, all fear, all concerns. It won’t last. They still don’t know what they’re doing. Where they’re headed, why they have been chosen for this gift – or curse – and if they’re the only two in the world. They still speak each other’s languages with thick accents and clumsy tongues, although Yusuf has fared far better on that front than Nicolò so they mostly converse in his dialect. Nicolò doesn’t care to know the outcome of the siege, if the war still wages on behind them, but there are battles ahead of them as well. Nomadic tribes that seek to kill them for their meager possessions, others in cities with hate in their hearts like Nicolò’s who draw their swords when they see him press his lips to Yusuf and believe it’s something evil. So this respite won’t last. But at least for now, he’s at peace. Splayed out on his back, legs fallen open a little. One arm is bent at the elbow, his hand resting on his own stomach, and the other is trapped under Nicolò’s body. Nicolò is pressed against Yusuf’s side, just looking. Keeping watch.  
  
Nicolò reaches over with his free hand and traces the hand on Yusuf’s chest. The pad of his index finger moves slowly up and down Yusuf’s slender fingers, across the back of his big palm, and then down over his wrist. This is the hand Yusuf said he broke a few years ago and Nicolò knows the exact spot, around the joint of the thumb, where there’s still a bump from where the bone didn’t heal properly. Back when their wounds healed as they should, slowly and sometimes improperly, instead of their bones refusing and their skin regenerating until any injury might never have happened at all, except for the faint memory of the pain. The notch on Yusuf’s thumb isn’t visible, only perceivable when the exact spot is pressed down upon. Nicolò might be the only person in the world who knows that other than Yusuf.  
  
He moves his hand up to Yusuf’s collarbone, running the tips of his fingers along the length of it from shoulder to shoulder. He stops to dip his thumb into that little indent at the base of Yusuf’s throat. If he pauses for a few seconds, he can feel the gentle thud of Yusuf’s pulse. Nicolò flattens his palm against Yusuf’s sleep-warmed skin and rubs in small circles. He traces the outline of muscles on Yusuf’s stomach with the tip of his middle finger, one at a time, through the soft hair scattered over them. Sticky, with the evidence of the way they’d worshiped each other hours ago. Yusuf takes Nicolò inside him so easily, so free and generous with his heart and his body and his love.  
  
It _is_ love. Nicolò knows that now. It wasn’t the easiest road to arrive at this place but now that he’s here, he understands the surge of warmth that swells in his chest when Yusuf touches him is love, and it’s more holy than anything he ever knew inside the walls of a cathedral.  
  
Yusuf sighs sleepily and tosses his head to the side, and Nicolò stills for a moment. He doesn’t want Yusuf to wake just yet. Outside their tent the wind howls and rain pelts into the thick canvas but inside they’re warm and dry. Yusuf’s skin glows in the blue rays from the full moon that filter in through the space between the flaps, and Nicolò just wants to look at him a while longer. To marvel at him, to treasure him, to send up a prayer of thanks for anyone who might still be listening to a sinner for bringing him to Yusuf’s light.  
  
Nicolò knows this body. He’s learned every inch, every dip and every contour. Studied them like a text, knows them with his hands and his mouth and his heart. He knows so much more than just the thumb that didn’t heal quite right. He knows the places where Yusuf will squirm if Nicolò tickles him. He knows how Yusuf likes to be kissed, with slow sweeps of Nicolò’s tongue into his mouth. He knows the way Yusuf tastes, the way sweat drips from his temples as they move together, the way it feels to be nestled in his strong arms. He knows the wanton moans that will fall from Yusuf’s lips if he slides his tongue high up on the tender insides of Yusuf’s thighs. The way he goes silent, lips parted in pleasure, when Nicolò wraps his lips around him.  
  
Yusuf’s chest rises and falls slowly, fluidly. He’s alive, he’s here, right here with Nicolò where he belongs. Where they both belong. Nicolò doesn’t know what he believes anymore, if the God he thought he understood was a lie as well as the hatred that was bred in his heart, but if there is something larger than this world, some greater force out there among the stars that spins a divine web for all people, Nicolò knows beyond a doubt that he was meant to end up here. With this man whose skin heals itself like magic the way Nicolò’s does, this man with the hands of an artist and the soul of a poet and the kindest eyes Nicolò has ever seen, who enveloped him in warmth when he was so lost. He deserves so much more in this life than Nicolò will ever be able to give him, but he’s determined to try. Yusuf gave up so much. Nicolò will build a life for them, no matter what it takes.  
  
Convinced that Yusuf is still asleep, Nicolò moves his hand up to his face. He lightly drags his fingers through the beard along Yusuf’s jaw, down his straight nose, then over each eyebrow. Nicolò hesitates for a second, but then he slides a feather-light fingertip across each of Yusuf’s eyelids, loving the way they twitch a little under his touch. He makes a silent vow, as his hand moves gently along Yusuf’s cheek, to protect him for as long as he lives. It might be forever, Nicolò has no answers. No reason to believe their shared ability will ever cease to exist, and yet no reason to believe it won’t end tomorrow. But for as long as there is still breath in his lungs, he will love this man, and hold him in the darkness, and keep him safe.  
  
If it was anyone else, anyone else in the world, touching him right now, Yusuf would have sprung to life and the person would be dead before they knew what hit them. Nicolò’s seen him in battle. Yusuf may not have been trained as Nicolò was but he’s fierce and exacting; capable, as Nicolò discovered over and over again, of getting the best of a Knight even though it had likely been the only time in his life Yusuf had ever wielded a sword. But they know each other, now. Through months lived and miles travelled they have learned each other. Yusuf’s unconscious body knows Nicolò’s touch, is able to distinguish it from everyone else’s, so he doesn’t wake.  
  
He slides his hand lower again. His thumb brushes over a dark nipple and Nicolò smiles when he hears the little hitch in Yusuf’s breath. His fingers fit so perfectly into the straight ridge of hard muscle at Yusuf’s hips, like a little handle carved specifically for him. He runs his fingers over it a few times, loving how Yusuf’s warm skin tightens and turns into goosebumps. Then, for a few seconds, Nicolò lets his hand hover even lower, over the blanket that covers Yusuf’s legs and pelvis. Heat comes off of him, as if he were already interested, his body unconsciously reacting to Nicolò’s touch.  
  
He lowers his hand and palms Yusuf’s flesh gently through the blanket. He wouldn’t take it further, not while Yusuf isn’t awake to agree to it. He likes just touching. Feeling Yusuf, soft and warm and trusting. It’s a thrill, almost like being a bit drunk but so much headier.  
  
“Are you having fun?”  
  
Nicolò jumps like he’s been burned and his head snaps around the other way. Yusuf’s eyes are open and he’s smiling sleepily.   
  
“ _Shit_ ,” Nicolò breathes. His heart races in his chest. “Have you been awake this whole time?”  
  
Yusuf cocks an eyebrow. “Whole time?” he repeats with a smirk. “Exactly how long has it been?”  
  
“Not – not _that_ long,” Nicolò stutters. It likely isn’t convincing. Yusuf has come to know him too well.  
  
Yusuf just continues smiling at him, affection in the sparkle of his eyes. Their inky blackness in the low light could encompass all the stars in the clearest night sky.  
  
Nicolò lets out a puff of air from his nose. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry, it’s alright.” Yusuf reaches up and brushes the backs of his knuckles against Nicolò’s cheek. “I don’t mind.”  
  
“I was awake, and … you were warm,” Nicolò mumbles sheepishly, an intense blush still heating up his face. It feels in some ways as if he’s known Yusuf all his life, because Nicolò feels like a different man than he was before. In reality it’s all still very new.  
  
“You didn’t have to wait until I was asleep. I would’ve let you. You’re always allowed to touch me.”  
  
Nicolò swallows thickly and he lays back down, tucking his face into Yusuf’s neck and closing his eyes. Yusuf breathes next to him and then he’s rolling them, his arms going around Nicolò and turning onto his side so he can cradle him. Nicolò feels tears tickling at the edges of his eyes. He wasn’t sad, mere moments ago. The swell of emotion comes from nowhere and hits him like a wave.  
  
“What’s wrong, Nicolò?” Yusuf whispers.  
  
“I’m not sure,” Nicolò answers honestly. Perhaps he just loves too much, all of a sudden. Perhaps there is only so much happiness a person can feel, and when it overflows it seeps out in other ways.  
  
“You’re not regretting, are you?” Yusuf’s voice is small, the words murmured into Nicolò’s forehead. His hand strokes Nicolò’s bare back. “You don’t have to stay here with me, you know. You could go back home.”  
  
“No. _No_ ,” Nicolò breathes, frantic for Yusuf to understand how badly he’s misinterpreted. He untucks his face and finds Yusuf’s mouth instead, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. “No, just entirely the opposite. I was thinking that you’re my home, now.”  
  
“Oh.” Yusuf smiles against his mouth. “What a lovely thought.”  
  
“Have you been regretting?” Nicolò is terrified of the answer for a moment, but Yusuf just shakes his head so their noses brush against each other’s.  
  
“No. Never.”  
  
“You know it might just be us. Forever. We might never know anyone else.”  
  
“I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”  
  
Nicolò lifts a leg and puts it overtop of Yusuf’s so they’re closer still, bodies pressed together all the way down. The blanket is still between them and Nicolò wants it gone, wants to feel every bit of Yusuf that he can. Yusuf kisses him again, deeper this time.  
  
“I love you,” Nicolò whispers into it, between luscious passes of their lips. It still feels brand new each time he says it aloud. It is new, but maybe it isn’t, really. Maybe their souls have always known each other.  
  
“Oh, the way I love you,” Yusuf says with a contented sigh. His warm hand cups Nicolò’s cheek. “The way you move me, how beautiful you are. How perfect it feels to have you in my arms.”  
  
“And if there’s nothing else? If everyone else grows old and leaves this world and in the end it’s just you and me?”  
  
“Then I will be the most blessed man to have ever walked this earth.” Yusuf’s kiss is slower, lingering, and Nicolò melts like ice in the spring. Yusuf can take him apart so easily, as if it’s as natural to him as breathing, and Nicolò cannot remember how he ever lived without it.  
  
“Not half as much as me,” he argues. There’s more truth in it than he could express in mere words. Nicolò was so lost and this gentle, loving man was his deliverance.  
  
“I would much rather make love to you again than fight you on that,” Yusuf says, and Nicolò smiles.  
  
“Be my guest. We have no reason to wake early in the morning.”  
  
“Mm.” Yusuf hums as if he’s contemplating it, and rolls again so he’s on top of Nicolò, his weight pressing down on him. “Perhaps I’d like to have you again in the morning, as well.”  
  
He kicks the blankets out from between the tangle of their legs and reaches behind himself. Nicolò had barely noticed himself hardening again, too consumed by the moment and by the enormity of what he feels for the man above him. Yusuf kisses him breathless as he holds it and sinks back onto it, his body still slippery with oil and yielding from Nicolò preparing him mere hours ago. Warmth surrounds Nicolò as he slides into Yusuf’s body, and he reaches down as well to help, their hands brushing against where their bodies meet.  
  
“I’d like to have you forever,” Nicolò whispers. It feels clandestine, like a secret to be guarded as if it were a precious jewel, even though they’re alone on a hillside with no one around to overhear it or attempt to take it from them.  
  
He’d made space in his heart so many years ago for something bigger than himself. Pushed other things away, to make room for the things he wanted so badly to believe. He might not, anymore, but with Yusuf close to him, those newly empty spaces are filled by something even more heavenly. Scripture and vestments and ritual hymns and even God himself never saved Nicolò’s tattered soul; Yusuf did. If the institution he gave a decade of his life to would disagree, Nicolò wants no part in it. He’s certain of that, now. What he has right here is more divine than any of it ever was.  
  
“That’s good news, because I think you’re stuck with me even if you didn’t like it,” Yusuf teases. His playful smile slips off his face as Nicolò is fully sheathed inside him, and his eyes flutter closed.  
  
“It’s fortunate I do like it, then.” Nicolò wraps an arm around his waist, and with the other hand, presses his fingertips above Yusuf’s beating heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Come talk to me [on tumblr](http://paper-storm.tumblr.com/) [or twitter](https://twitter.com/paper_storm_) if you want!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Torn and Reborn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29765622) by [hnghh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hnghh/pseuds/hnghh)




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